


Collection

by AutisticWriter



Series: Autism Acceptance Month [14]
Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Autism, Autism Spectrum, Autistic Creative Challenge, Autistic Violet Baudelaire, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Hugs, Insomnia, Married Violet Baudelaire/Isadora Quagmire, Older Characters, One Shot, Panic, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Stimming, Tumblr Prompt, autism awareness month
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 09:16:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14329302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutisticWriter/pseuds/AutisticWriter
Summary: Troubled by insomnia, Violet spends the night in her workshop. But the next morning, Isadora wakes up to find Violet not in bed, and spirals into panic.[Prompt 11: Collection]





	Collection

Violet can’t sleep. Whether it is caused by anxiety or just restlessness, she isn’t sure, but she knows she is struggling to sleep. The night drags on and on, and by 3am she is painfully bored. She tries to focus on stimming, twisting a lock of her long hair around her fingers and clenching her toes, but even the repetitive motions that relax and soothe her aren’t enough to relieve the boredom.

If she was sleeping alone, she would have sat up in bed hours ago and spent this time reading or sketching ideas for inventions. However, she doesn’t sleep alone, and hasn’t done in twenty years. Because she lives with Isadora. They have been together for two decades and married for just over five years, and she hasn’t slept alone in all that time. And she loves sharing a bed with her wife, but it does make insomnia a problem. Because when you share a bed with someone, you can’t just switch the light on and wake them up; that wouldn’t be fair.

So at 3:30am, Violet decides to get up. She grabs her hair ribbon (as much a comfort item as it was when she was in her teens), pulls on her jacket and heads out of the bedroom as quietly as she can. Violet treks through the house, fumbling in the dark and nearly tripping. But she locates the keys, unlocks the back door and goes out into the yard. She enters the large shed, better known as her workshop, and switches on the light.

And Violet smiles, staring all around her. She adores her workshop. It contains a wonderful collection of machinery and technology, spare parts of computers and phones and engines littering the countertops whilst many of her inventions sit locked in a closet. Violet loves everything about this place, and it is often a sight of refuge when she is stressed or anxious or just needs some time alone. So this is a perfect place to go when she can’t sleep.

Violet ties her hair back with her ribbon (it’s a sensory thing; her hair tickles the back of her neck and distracts her when she tries to think, something that the ribbon solves) and sits at her desk, taking out a sketchbook.

She spends the next few hours drawing detailed diagrams of possible inventions, and eventually falls asleep slumped forwards on her desk, her face resting against her sketchbook.

\---

When she is awoken from her sleep by the alarm clock (designed by Violet to make a less loud, aggressive noise than their previous alarm), Isadora rolls over to face her wife. She blinks blearily, still half asleep, and finds Violet’s side of the bed empty. Isadora sits up, wondering where she is. It isn’t like Violet to wake up before her; Isadora’s wife tends to sleep quite late.

So as Isadora gets out of bed to start another day, she also decides to search for Violet. It may be tied to trauma from her childhood (the fire and the death of her parents and the awfulness with Count Olaf), but it starts to stress her out when she can’t locate the people she cares about. That is the wonderful thing about PTSD: it makes you worry about everything even when the threat has subsided for twenty years.

She sighs and pulls on her dressing gown, pulling her fluffy slippers onto her feet. She loves these slippers (they look like ankle boots, with a white fluffy lining and a pale blue exterior) for many reasons, but the main is because Violet gave them to her as a birthday present. Isadora wanders through the house, checking the spare rooms, but finds no sign of Violet. Her heart rate starting to increase, she hurries downstairs, checking the living room, the dining room and the kitchen. She tries the back door, and finds it unlocked.

Panic grips at her chest and her heart starts to beat so loudly she can feel it in her ears. Isadora groans and wraps her arms around herself, trying to control her breathing. This is irrational. Just because the door is unlocked, it doesn’t mean that anything has happened to Violet. Does it? She doesn’t know. She needs to calm down. She needs to find Violet. She wishes she didn’t have this ridiculous mental illness that makes her terrified of the slightest thing all these years after her trauma. She wishes she could just calm down.

And then it occurs to her where Violet might be. Hoping she is correct, Isadora rushes across the back yard and flings open the door to Violet’s workshop. She finds Violet slumped forwards on her desk, eyes closed. And Isadora, already stressed beyond belief, panics.

“Violet!” she cries, rushing forwards to shake Violet’s shoulders. “Violet, wake up!”

And thankfully, thankfully, thankfully, Violet awakes. Her eyes open and she looks at Isadora, before sitting bolt upright. One of her hands goes to her hair ribbon, the other reaching for Isadora’s hand. She looks so confused, and Isadora can’t blame her.

“What’s going on?” she mumbles, squeezing Isadora’s clammy hand. “Isadora?”

It’s then that she notices the tears falling down her face. Isadora sniffs, trying to control her breathing, and throws her arms around Violet. “Nothing, nothing. I just… I woke up and you weren’t in bed and… and I panicked.”

Violet gently pushes her away and looks at her (not making eye contact, but staring intently at the creases in Isadora’s forehead). She pulls her ribbon out of her hair and twists it around her fingers. “Isadora… I had no idea. I’m so sorry. I had no intention of scaring you. I should have left a note. Or… something.”

She blinks rapidly, and Isadora wonders if Violet will cry too. However, she doesn’t; instead, Violet reaches out and brushes tears from her cheeks with trembling fingers. And she hugs Isadora tightly, rubbing her back as her right hand twists and twists the ribbon. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Isadora says, tears running down her cheeks.

She just hates this. Twenty years have passed since she finally got a safe, happy life, but the memories won’t stop haunting her. It is like her brain doesn’t want her to be happy.

“I love you,” Violet whispers, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

When Isadora finally stops crying, they head inside and start making breakfast. Maybe, if they try hard enough, they can pretend this morning started the normal way. Although it might be difficult.


End file.
